


What's Going On?!

by Mayamelissa, TayTurtle



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Crack, Gen, Multi, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-22
Updated: 2019-06-22
Packaged: 2020-05-16 17:52:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19323142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mayamelissa/pseuds/Mayamelissa, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TayTurtle/pseuds/TayTurtle
Summary: Why isn't anyone talking about how seemingly behind Wizarding Britain is technologically compared to the rest of the world?This is a Crack fic on how Maya and I think people react to how Wizarding Britain is with their technology, or lack thereof.





	What's Going On?!

   “Margo—.”

   “No—Wait. You’re telling me m, that Wizarding Britain doesn’t have a _single_ cosmetics store? Well, how do they wash their face? Does everyone just glamour their zits? Be realistic, Tom.” The short-haired woman paused to look up and down the cobble streets.

    “Well, no. Not  _exactly._ ” Tom mumbled.

    He seemed utterly exasperated, Margo noted. It was easy to tell by the way his head was supported in his hands as he  let out a long-suffering sigh that held a vestige of ‘ _there’s no hope!_ ’

    This was the first time Margo had stepped foot in Diagon Alley within her adult life. After accepting a position in the Foreign Liaison Department of MACUSA, she moved to America to head the American-British Wizarding Affairs branch of the department. She quickly found that her job was _not_ as simple as she had expected.

   Margo had also not once, definitely not before now, realised the impracticality that was Wizarding London. At this point, even the _muggles_ were doing better.

    “Impossible,” Margo dropped her head back. “ _This_ , Ladies and Lords, is how you defeat the one and only ‘Dark Lord‘.” Margo said dryly, rolling her eyes to emphasise how utterly ridiculous the whole thing was. Huffing, she shook herself and chose to move on, resuming her incredulous walk through the relatively empty Alley—and not just empty of people, but empty of _actual practical shopping_!

    “Margo—please understand. We don’t even have the muggle  _radio._ ”

    Now that made Margo freeze, “You _what_?” She pivoted on her heels to look the man in the eyes as if desperately searching for it to be a lie.

    “Wait, now hold on—Margo, please—!” Tom pleaded, his hands coming up, attempting to placate the woman before the impending lecture left her twitching lips.

    Margo strained a wheeze, her eyebrows scrunching, “YOU’RE LEADING A REVOLUTION THAT SPOUTS BLOOD SUPREMACY AND YOU WIZARDING ARSEHOLES DONT HAVE MUGGLE _RADIO!?”_ She yawped, beyond astounded. “ _Not_ to mention that,  _that_ is absolutely  _no_  excuse towards the lack of personal hygiene care, Thomas.”

    Margo narrowed her eyes at him pointedly, earning herself a shaky and unsure smile from the taller man.

    “This is absolutely unbelievable. How in Circe’s name are British wizards so ‘superior’ when you lot haven’t something as simple as the  _radio_? The muggles made it _ages_ ago!”

    Margo paused again, clearing her throat, her voice wary, “Now, Thomas, Darling. Tell me they have phones at least. Please.”

    Tom’s eyes darted refusing to meet her’s before he turned away completely, “Erm... well, we _do_ have the Floo.”

    Margo pailed a bit at that, shifting uncomfortably as she cleared her throat. “Well, Mazel tov. Do you _also_ have the ability to _prevent_ it?” Her voice warbled slightly, unsteady but slightly hopeful. How on earth had she missed this as a child?

    “Prevent?” Tom asked, quirking an eyebrow. ”No, I’d think not. Although, wards tend to keep people out.” Tom said thoughtfully. After a moment he added, “Then again, they can be broken.”

    “By Lady Magic, herself.” Margo squeaked, horrified. ”Someone get me back to London before I die of Influenza—or worse—the  _chicken pox._ ”

    Tom perked you a bit, seeing an opportunity, “Oh! Well we do have cures for most muggle diseases. Though, i'm not too sure about that status of the pneumonic plague.” Tom continued failing to note Margo’s increasing sense of mental instability, instead lost in his thoughts.

    “Oh. Lovely. ‘Not sure’. It’s only the  _plague._  We’ve got vaccines for that. But with the way the wizarding world is, here, i'm not too surprised _you_ don’t.”

    Margo gave the taller man a thin, strained smile. “ _I_ just can't believe you lot haven't the radio. No doubt the television would make your lot’s heads implode.” Her attempt at a bit of humour towards the situation seemed to fall a bit short.

    “Tele—what?” Tom eyed her sideways with a quizzical gleam.

    Margo gaped.

    “Of for the love of—!”

 

 

* * *

 

_At the same time, in a small room of skilled Aurors, a smartphone rings._

    All thirteen Aurors in the room, in that moment, had experienced the equivalent of a perfectly-executed jump scare. But only _twelve_ of them had their wands out huddling in a circle, while frantically whipping their heads from side to side looking for the threat.  
  
    Each of them were panting with adrenaline; their eyes wide looking for whatever magical beast could have produced such a shrill loud, high-pitched sound. It took them a while to calm themselves once they noticed there was no attack, but it took even longer before they all noticed there was one of them was not...reacting. At all.

    Instead, they thirteenth member just perched on the corner of one of the desks, fumbling with a small object.

    Shaun lifted the object to his ear curiously, “ _Shaun. Shaun you wouldn’t believe this!”_ A voice said breathlessly from the other end.

    “Wait—Margo, I’m going to have to get you back. I’ll meet you at the Key. We can talk then, yeah?”

    _“Alright see you then.”_ And the object clicked.

    One of the Aurora finally cracked, incapable of taking the strained silence any longer, “What the _fuck_ was that, Shaun?”

    “I’m so sorry! I completely forgot to put it on silent!” Shaun said, hands in the air with a nervous smile.

    “What do you  _mean_  ‘on silent’? Does it talk? Is it sentient?” One of the others asked cautiously, eying the object from a safe distance away.

    “Shaun, are you dabbling in necromancy, again?” Another tittered disapprovingly.

    All Shaun could do was sigh; it seemed that their initial shock had passed. He waved them off, their questions left un answered, as he exited the building. His mental stability was his first priority.

    Shaun called himself a cab, opting to join Margo in the civilized bastion that was Muggle London.

 

 

* * *

 

 

    “How’d visiting your relatives go, Dears?”

Shaun and Margo threw their things haphazardly in a corner before plopping in a chair and burying their heads in the table surface.

    “Oh, it was wonderful!” Margo said sarcastically. “It was like we were in a different universe where they’re all lost in time! A completely different era!”

    “Yeah! I’ve never seen anything like it. They don’t even have _phones,_ Ma. _Phones_!” Shaun provided.

    It was only a little while ago, waiting for the portkey, when Margo told him about the ‘flu’ network:

 

>     “They communicate through the flu, Shaun. IN-FLU-ENZA!”
> 
>     “You’re kidding? That explains the phone thing.” Shaun sputtered.
> 
>     “How are they not _dead_ —or dying out? And _don't_ say ‘magic’ because there's magic and then they’re defying the very laws of  _nature_.” Margo  flailed, throwing her hands in the air.
> 
>     “Not magic. That’s for sure, sheer luck, a miracle or two, and the favour of Lady Magic.”
> 
>     “I couldn’t even find a mattress store. A  _mattress store_ , Shaun. What do they sleep on—stone slabs? No wonder they’re always cranky.” Margo groaned loudly before they both grabbed onto the portkey and spun home.

 

     “‘Go visit your British cousins!’, they said! ‘It will be nice returning to your roots’, they said!” Margo gave a weak huff of laughter. “They weren't wrong about the ‘roots’ you know. There isn't a single plant on top; they're all so deep they’ve decomposed!”

    “Not only that, Ma, they were working by  _OIL LAMP_!” Shaun nearly squacked. “GRANMA BEATRICE DOESN'T EVEN USE THOSE AND SHE'SOVER A 160!”

    “Oh and not to mention, Tom couldn’t even tell me where I could buy a bottle of  _shampoo_. SHAMPOO, Mom!” Margo dragged the palms of her hands over her face roughly choking on a dry sob.

    Their mother chuckled outright. “You weren't able to find the spray on deodorant either, huh?”

    “NO!” Margo said. “I was lucky I did what you said and brought extra!”

    “You know, could see the lights in their eyes die when I tried explaining how an aerosol can works.” Shaun pointed out before groaning loudly.

    “Shaun had to try and explain what a phone is. A phone. Mamá. He said they thought it was  _necromancy._ ”

    "Ha! And don't even get Margo to explain how they, in all their superiority, struggle with the _pneumonic plaque_."

    “I  _don’t_ want to talk about it.” She gave a low wine. “They can fix a broken bone but they can’t cure the damn  _plague_.” Margo slumped in her seat completely exhausted.

    Shaun perked up up a bit, again. “Oh and we know it’s not like they don’t have anything middle. They do have Hogwarts Express.”

    “Oh yeah, the one,” she held up a finger, “thing they take from the muggles and it’s basically useless with all the other more simple means of travel.” Margo rolled her eyes. “I thought that I’d go and get better quality of TV shows but they had no clue what I was talking about! I made a Monty Python joke and they were _so confused._ ”

    Shaun leaned back in his chair, accepting the cup of tea his mother handed him. “I finally understand why all the Durmstrang students—and the Beauxbatons for that matter—were so shocked with Hogwarts and Hogsmeade.”

    “Oh yeah, I forgot about that!” Margo laughed, taking a sip of the hot liquid, thinking back to the Triwizard Tournament of their year.

 

 

>     _All the foreign students thought that Hogwarts, and Hogsmeade by extension, were just far too interested in being stuck in the dark ages where technology was far beyond human comprehension._
> 
> _Victor and several other foreign students, not including any Hogwarts few, had questioned what beers were on Tap. However, they only found, to their horror, that Hogsmeade lacked a Tap system._
> 
> _“Then where do you get your drinks? The little puddle outside?” One of the blue-clad Beauxbaton students asked incredulously._
> 
> _The barmaid looked at them for a moment, “No, we serve them from the barrels behind the bar, and the ones in the back.” She said hesitantly, carefully eyeing the students while gesturing vaguely behind her._
> 
> _All of the students just stared at her, completely taken aback, before the silence was struck through by one of the others._
> 
> _“Vhat ze **fuck**?”_

 

    Shaun laughed with her. It was a rather fond memory of their time in school. Unfortunately it only made sense now; back then, they had no clue as to _why_ that was such a big deal.

 

 

* * *

It was several years later that everyone got another reminder towards how technologically (magical _and_ muggle) behind Magical Britain was to the rest of the world.

    It was the first time Hadrian Peverell had traveled overseas, here for a foreign Auror consultation. The moment he stepped into MACUSA he had to take a moment to figure out whether or not he accidentally entered the muggle station instead.

    “Wait. Excuse me? This is rather... ‘modern’. Would you tell me when we get into Magical America, please?” Hadrian politely asked the MACUSA Auror.

    “Auror Hardian, this _is_ Magical America.” The Auror stated hesitantly, confused by the question.

    “But—But you have phones.” Hadrian pointed out, as if they failed to notice.

    Everyone around him seemed to stop, stunned by what he said, before they all looked at him, puzzlement etched into the very lines of their faces.

    “Oh, _Merlin_. I thought Shaun was kidding!” One of the by standing consultants yelped. That seemed to sir everyone back into motion.

    “Next thing he'll be asking is why we have computers!” Another Auror said from his place, sitting at his desk, halfway out of his chair on the other side of the room.

    “Eh? You have computers?” Hadrian said, shocked.

    “ _Morgana and Merlin_ , WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON IN BRITAIN?!”

   “I have to call Shaun. It’s worse than they thought!” The Auror beside Hadrian said, scrambling for his phone before yelling into it. “ _They don’t even have computers_ , he said!”

    “Wait!” Hadrian shouted. “What in Circe’s name is that in your hand?”

    The entire hall went eerily silent before the phone in the Auror’s hand slipped from his grip, clattering to the floor. The entire room went absolutely _ballistic_.

    Several Aurors crumpled to the floor like marionettes whose strings were cut.  A few others in the vicinity gripped their head between their hands, all of them yelling about the various slights they just lived through.

    A nervous witch came up to Hadrian, her voice strained in concealed horror, “Sir, theoretically, how might a British wizard communicate with another in the field?” She asked.

    “Oh! We just use patronuses.” Hadrian smiled, finally something normal.

    “Someone get the Liaison office on the phone!” A voice yelled over the commotion. Someone nodded frantically before fumbling with the keys, dialing, their grip on the phone making their knuckles turn white as they screamed into it. “They're still communicating with Patronuses, Jack! PATRONUSES IN THE FIELD!”

  _“OH, MERLIN!”_ Could be heard from the other side of the phone.

    A red headed wizard ran up to Hadrian, grasping both of his hands in theirs. “That went out of use 8 years ago, Darling!”

    Everyone in the office, or just simply _everyone_ , knew that there was an Aurge who would have died but survived because they simply _called_ the medic instead of sending Patronus Message. The medic was there instantly, they used the phone’s _GPS_ to apparate to the location. As it stood, everything continued to be shocking to the MACUSA employees as it was clear that the British didn't even do _that_ much.

    They all recalled seeing in the papers that several people polyjuiced into the boy in front of them now, to create a _distraction_ ; however, they were all convinced it must have been fiction for enjoyment—a hoax!—because, ‘ _There are countless more ways to have fulfilled your mission that wouldn’t have been so difficult and would_ not _have cost lives.’_

    “And you call us _Americans_ idiots.” The mage perched cross-legged on her desk, muttered, shaking her head.

    “Yeah. You ever think to, oh I don't know, _use a gun_?” The resident muggle-firearms agent smirked, laughing. “Because you know what breaks through shield charm? My 9 mil.” 

    A few people chuckled at that. Resigned to the stupidity of the British Wizarding society, they all went back to their jobs with tears in their eyes. And a few less years on their life.

 

* * *

 

    The Ministry, especially once Tom Riddle assumed power, then known by his alias  _Voldemort_ , closed their ranks permanently towards the outside world. This left the Muggle governments cautious and confused as to why multiple people disappeared from seemingly normal neighborhoods on a rather regular basis.

    The liaison between the Muggle and Magical World had been trying to pacify the growing fury, but began to meet resistance and reluctance towards acceptance. 

    _“I've been told everything is fine.”_

_“Really, Eugene? Because we have people disappearing from neighborhoods that have nothing in common that would beg to differ!”_

    Eugene had to resort to the only thing left. He calls Jack, who calls Shaun, who talks to Margo—who was _unfortunately_ on vacation at the time—to visit again and fix this new-found problem of basically _everyones._

 

    Everyone could hear her coming, like an angry storm. Everyone moved from her path without prompt, parting like a sea, like a school of fish to a passing shark. They may not know her, but they had this instinctive feeling to avoid her _at all cost._

    “I was _supposed_ to be on  _vacation_. Drinking cocktails. On the beach. With my boyfriend. But _noooooo_. Because, _you_ , Thomas Marvolo Riddle, are an absolute _buffoon._ ” Margo growled viciously over her sunglasses. 

    Tom’s eyes widened comically, “H-Hello, Margo! You look rather stunning, Dear. I really must say—!” He smiled, his voice unsteady.

   “ _No_. Don’t you _‘Hello, Margo’_ me as if you don’t know why I’m here.” She gave him a withering glare, making the mans blood run cold behind his snake mask.

    “First off, we’ll start with: what the _fuck_ have you done to yourself? You look like somebody bathed you in a vat of acid-bleach then cut your nose off out of spite!"

   “I-it’s a glamour, Margo, I swear! Just for appearances, Darling!”

   “By the Lady—then take it off! You look like you're perma-ready for Samhain, or perhaps muggle Hallowe’en!” Margo said incredulously.

    In that moment, a petite woman with crazy hair lunged at her, wand in hand, and a spell on her lips. Margo dodged expertly as she flipped the woman over her shoulder and trapped her wand harm in a lock, pinned to the floor and immobile. American wizards are all taught and trained in hand-to-hand martial arts and other forms of combat, _unlike the British_. The woman didn't stand a chance, and it seems the others in the room understood the sentiment as they each were quacking like leaves.

    Tom seemed smug at the casual display of power. That is until the object of said ‘power’ turned her piercing gaze back unto him.

    Margo sat on the crazy witch’s back as the clearly unhinged woman struggled and screamed.

    “This is who you work with? _This_ is the kind of people you employ, Thomas? Circe save me—I bet you still don't have radio,  _or_ know what television is, do you? And _what_ did I say about the glamour!?”

    “O-Oh, yes! Sorry, Darling. See—look, all better!” Tom dropped the glamour quickly, fixing his hair before wringing his hands and fidgeting with his wand. “U-u-m...maybe...not on that tele-what’s-it front?” Tom stuttered, nearly imperceptible.

    “Unbelievable—Do you know how many phone calls the liaison office has gotten because of you?” Her nose twitched, “I was supposed to be on vacation. _Vacation,_ Tom _,_ as I may have said before.”

    Margo looked up at him from her spot on the rather wiggly witch. She gained minute satisfaction at her ability to render the no-longer-looking-like-a-snake-thing palid and stuttering.

    “And here I thought Slytherins were supposed to be cunning. Instead we’ve got to listen to reports about people going _missing_ and shit _blowing up!_ So now folks back home are like, _‘Oh, what’s going on with Britain? Have they finally lost it?’_ ” Margo mocked, her words sharp.

    She gave a hard slap against the ass of the woman beneath her; an attempt to get her to quiet down and squirm _a little less_.

    Because seriously. All Margo wanted to do was go to some tropical island, _away_  from the work, to enjoy her time with her equally-as-busy boyfriend.

    But No. She just _had_ to be tracked down by _half the department_  and her own brother _—curse him—_ to deal with Tom- _Bloody_ -Riddle acting like a _god damned Gryffindor._

    “You realise, that you’re going about all this in the _worst possible_ , and likely the _least productive,_ way known to wizard kind. You’re acting like a second year Gryffindor, Thomas. Gryffindor!” She accused, watching him wince. Yet it failed to quell her growing annoyance.   
   
    “Is this even your manor, Tom?” Margo asked. His silence was answer enough, prompting her further, “Thomas, did you _kidnap_ someone's _house_?"

    Tom cleared his throat, swallowing down the lump, “It’s, ah, shall we say, _highly likely_ something of that sort has _possibly_ conspired?” He offered, giving the seething women in front of him a wary smirk of faux confidence. His expression fell at her unamused and rather sceptical glare.

    “Whose house is this, Tom?”

    “Erm, well you see—“

    “Whose. House. Is this. Tom?” Margo’s voice dropped. Her annoyance was quickly turning into anger. Her mind going though every possible way she was going to fucking _punt_ his ass. She was extra mad because _Shaun_ could have been here in her stead but _no,_ she just _had_  to go and lose the bloody paper-rock-scissors stand off.

    In an attempt to spare himself her wrath. Tom explained what exactly was going on. But it only seemed to make it worse.

    “You did  _WHAT_ to your soul? ARE YOU _OUT_ OF YOUR BLOODY  _MIND_?!” Margo gripped her hair tightly in her fists. “THOMAS YOU FUCKING IMBECILE, DID YOU NOT READ THE WARNINGS!?”

    And that was _before_ she learned of the Prophecy. Where Tom just thought, “I'll go kill a baby and everything will be fine!” Margo failed you share the sentiment.

    She hit him back with a very pointed and aggressive, “DO YOU NOT REMEMBER, THROUGH _EVERY SINGLE PIECE_ OF HISTORICAL RECORD, HOW PROPHECIES  _WORK_?!”

    Margo was breathless, teetering on the edge of hysterics, “And what were you planning to do exactly, hm? Attack the child? How, prey tell, do you even know the prophecy is real?!” She accused, again. Honestly, the sense of this man! Acting like a bloody _Gryffindor_!

    “Woah woah woah. Hold on, go back a minute," Margo stopped both Tom and herself, some of Tom’s earlier words were finally registering. “You have  _how many_ Horcruxes!?”

   In the end, Margo couldn’t hold back in her utterly _brutal_ smacking of common sense into the  _Dark Lord_  before she then made him  _fix_ everything. She wanted go back to her damn beach vacation and cocktails.

   Before she left, she turned to him with a deadly ice in her voice that placed promise nestled in the air, “You have  _got_  to get a hobby, or at least a boyfriend. Better yet, Both! If you don’t, you won’t like when I show up the next time.”

    As she finally departed, Margo crossed her fingers, sending a silent prayer to Lady Magic that she _doesn’t_ get another call about it for at  _least_ another 6 months.

 

 

//Fin//

**Author's Note:**

> So as said in the tags, I have no beta other than myself. Sometimes I’ll get bored and re-read through it and find things to fix. So if you read it once and by the time you read it again some things are a bit differently worded or in better context or literally anything else, thats why.
> 
> Thanks for reading and don’t be afraid to drop a comment!


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